Drawn Together
by CorvusCorvidae
Summary: It was a doodle in English class that first caught Santana's eye, and after that, it became a hunt to learn the girl's name. She was a ghost, an unknown face amongst the masses, but then again, maybe not. AU. One-shot. Quinntana Week Day One: Popular Girl & Nerd.


Quinntana week day one: Popular girl & nerd.

*0*0*

Drawn Together

*0*0*

It was a doodle in English class that first caught Santana's eye. On a torn out piece of paper, situated next to the girl's immaculate notes, was a picture of Wall-E and Eve rushing off with a baby in hand, and what looked like Dumbledore duelling in the background.

It took Santana several minutes to deduce what was actually going on, and then she ended up admiring the girl's drawing skills. They were pretty good; good enough for her to work out the wizard was definitely Dumbledore, and that the two robots were fleeing with Harry Potter.

Flicking her eyes up, along the arm holding the pen that had just finished drawing in Dobby next to Eve, Santana met the blonde head of the girl in front. Chancing a look at her outfit, despite already knowing she was not a Cheerio, she noted a blue cardigan over what looked to be a white and blue sundress.

Still, no clues as to who she was exactly.

Santana felt like she should know this. Everyone pretty much knew who she was, and she had made an effort to know who most people were just in case she ever needed to bitch them out. It was better to have personalised insults to hit just the right buttons when tearing someone a new asshole. Yet, with this girl, she didn't have a clue.

It wasn't like McKinley had any new students recently, so it couldn't be that Santana didn't know her, she just didn't _know_ her. Whatever, it had pissed her off, and by the end of the damn lesson, she was going to know exactly who the girl was, right down to what hand she masturbated with.

Okay, maybe not _that_ well, but she was at least going to have the girl on her radar from now on.

Why she cared was another thing altogether, but hell, she was showing an appreciation to the arts or something. The girl was good at drawing, Santana hadn't been repulsed by her artistic skills, and maybe she had a soft spot for Wall-E. Whatever; she had cousins and they loved that crap.

Jotting down the notes that had been added to the board since she'd taken to creeping on the girl in front, Santana at least tried to pretend she was listening. The last thing she needed was being asked a question and floundering like an idiot. No, that wasn't going to happen. She could gawk and stare later, studies first.

In doing so, of course, she didn't have time to watch the girl's drawing progress. She didn't get to see what had been added, and when the bell rang, she was certain she wasn't going to get a look at what the drawing had become. That definitely wasn't the case, however.

In a bid to be packed up and ready to follow this girl out the room, (just so she could get a good look at her face and put a name to it, geez) Santana could only watch as the blonde scrunched up the drawing into a ball and threw it in the trash on her way out the door.

What the hell?

Affronted and taken aback by the move, Santana let everyone file out in front of her. Once everyone had left, she moved over to the bin and looked inside. There it was, in plain sight. She would only need to reach in quickly and grab it. It was the damn recycling bin, so it wasn't like there was rubbish. But was she really going to be _that_ girl?

Yes, yes she was.

Grabbing the scrunched up paper, Santana stuffed it in her binder and strode through the hallways like a woman on a mission. Being used to her on her warpath, majority of the students moved out the way and kept to themselves while she passed. It had her smirking, feeling the power she could wield with just the sway of her hips and an unwavering gaze.

Only once back at her locker did she cut the bitch act out and let her mask fall behind her locker door, blocked from sight. With her back keeping the contents of her locker hidden, Santana squeezed her binder inside, and then pulled out the scrunched up drawing. Opening it up carefully, and listening to the sounds around her in case anyone was coming, she flattened it out as best she could, and spied a look at the piece of work the blonde had thrown so carelessly away.

Where once stood Wall-e, Eve, baby Harry Potter, Dumbledore and Dobby, now stood Bellatrix in the back casting spells their way, and they were fleeing towards a Police Box, with a man in a bow tie ushering them inside.

It wasn't the usual type of picture Santana would indulge in, but as she looked at it more and more, she really did find herself thinking it was pretty awesome. Regardless of the content, the drawer had skills, and now all Santana needed to do was find out who the hell she was. After all, Santana at least wanted the name of the girl who had drawn this, even if it was so she could bitch her out about it at a later date.

*0*0*

The next time Santana saw her, it was in History class the following day, and she was willing to bet her inheritance that the girl had never been there before. This time round, she was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the girl's face, and despite the Stepford wife look she was sporting, she was actually rather attractive, which was another reason Santana was certain she hadn't seen this girl around before.

She would have remembered her; she absolutely would have remembered her.

All efforts to learn the girl's name continued to be useless throughout the lesson. She didn't speak to anyone. She wasn't called upon. She kept herself pretty hidden, but once again, Santana spied her drawing another picture next to her work.

Given how she wasn't sitting behind her this time, she couldn't spy what she was drawing. However, since the girl had ditched her last one like it was nothing, Santana was bargaining on her doing it again.

She loved being right.

When the bell rang and the girl got up to leave, her hand scrunched up the piece of paper as if it was garbage. And like the last time, she threw it straight in the bin on her way out the door. This time, there was no need to rush, so Santana dawdled as everyone filed out, and then moseyed her way over to the recycling bin.

As no one was around, she plucked the drawing out from on top and moved back to the nearest desk to see just what it was the girl had spent the lesson drawing. Staring back at her was Superman, flying over the earth, with baby Harry Potter in his arms, and some robot with a toilet plunger attached to its face flying after them.

It brought a smile to her lips, and looking over her shoulder just to check no one was coming back inside, Santana folded the drawing back up and slipped it into her bag. Seriously, what was with this girl and throwing away awesome drawings?

*0*0*

In the week that followed, try as she might, Santana found herself seeking the girl out. She still didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her apart from the fact she was in her English and History class. That was it, and that was just no good. So, a name. How hard could it be to learn her name?

Harder than she initially thought, obviously.

She didn't want to make a big deal about it. Asking her friends or her fellow Cheerios was going to result in a big deal for sure, which meant she was actually going to have to ask the girl herself, or get creative.

The creative route seemed like her best bet, but despite eavesdropping on the only two conversations the girl had with other students, Santana still hadn't picked it up. She had absolutely nothing to go on. Even in the yearbooks, she was expecting to see that blonde head of hair and pretty face adorning the pages, but it wasn't there. She was like a freaking ghost.

The girl wasn't in any clubs, as far as Santana could see, and she didn't really look to have friends. Instead, she spent her free lessons and lunch hour in the Library. No one really paid her any attention, and no one really saw that she was there, expect Santana, of course.

She had now taken to stalking the girl, and it was getting ridiculous. Really, the whole situation was out of hand. What did she want with this girl? Did she really want to bitch her out or make fun of her for her drawings, the very drawings she had taken from the recycling bins and put up in her bedroom? So okay, no, maybe she could accept the fact that for once she didn't want to take the piss out of someone. She was actually genuinely interested in them, and why would someone who was so skilled throw away their artwork like that. She was curious, intrigued, and with each passing day, more of her time was spent thinking about the girl who fell into a crowd so easily and was never to be found if she didn't want to be.

It was this knowledge that led her into the Library, what Santana was sure was the girl's safe haven. Even though she attempted to blend in, the Cheerios uniform and her reputation preceded her and many heads turned to watch. A few tried to hide their faces in the books, and it was clear they thought she was going to bitch someone out.

Deep amongst the stacks towards the back of the room, and far enough away from the curious eyes who had watched her entrance, Santana found the very girl she was looking for, nose in a book, oblivious to the world around her. Stopping short of the table she was at, Santana eyed her up, attempting to gauge how this conversation would go. She had a rough plan of what she'd say, and just in case the girl didn't feel like being forthcoming with her name, she had a few threats at the ready to throw in. However, nowhere in that plan did it say the blonde was to speak first.

"Can I help you?" she asked, not looking up from the book in her hands.

Her voice wasn't at all what Santana had been expecting. She was anticipating mousey and quiet, but this was firm, cold and unimpressed. Cocking her eyebrow at the gall, and feeling a rush of excitement from her inner Snixx, Santana approached the table and placed her hands on the back of the chair opposite her.

"What's your name?" she questioned, deciding not to beat around the bush. It would be a waste of time, if this girl's attitude was anything to go by.

"How will my name be able to help you?" the girl replied, turning her page as if this entire conversation was nothing more than a nuisance. Oh, Santana was enjoying this.

"Because I don't know who the fuck you are and I want to know," she replied sweetly, plastering a fake smile on her lips. It went completely unnoticed by the blonde.

"Why?" She sounded rather aggrieved at having to ask, and that had Santana frowning. What the fuck was the big deal?

"You're in my classes." She shrugged her shoulder, as if to play the situation off as nothing more than curiosity.

"And?" the girl asked, finally looking up from the book and raising an eyebrow in question.

"Look, can you just tell me your damn name or is it as hideous as your dress?" The words were out of Santana's mouth before she could stop them, and the flicker of something behind the girl's eyes told her that she'd made a wrong move.

In return for her venomous words, the blonde smiled chillingly and then turned back to her book. She picked up the bookmark that had been on the table, tucked it in place and then closed it over. Santana could only watch as the girl began to pack up her things.

"Look, what is your deal?" she asked, feeling like an ass for insulting the girl but not wanting to apologise. "It's only your name." Seriously, what was the problem here? What was the worst that could happen by telling her?

"Yes, it's my name," the girl began, nodding. "And a name you do not need to know. Now, have a good day, Santana," she snarked, sliding past without so much as a falter in her step from Santana's shocked glare.

Okay, now she really needed to know who the fuck she was dealing with. All she wanted to do was give the girl a compliment, maybe talk to her a little, not start whatever the hell this was. What the fuck had gone wrong?

*0*0*

Santana couldn't help but notice the blonde's absence in the halls the days after their little tête à tête. Try as hard as she might, there was just no sight of her. When Santana expected to see her in English, she was a no show, and when she thought she might be in History, she didn't turn up either.

None of that sat well in her stomach, but she couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as though she'd been horrible or vicious. Actually, their little spar of words was practically nice on the Snixx scale. So really, this girl had to have been ill or something, and there was no reason for Santana to feel guilty at all. .

That's what she kept telling herself, anyway.

By the time Monday came about, she didn't want to admit that she was exceedingly relieved to see the blonde ducking her way through the hallways and into class. So maybe she'd briefly thought about her over the weekend, and maybe she'd spent time admiring the drawings she'd stolen from the recycling bins and wondered about their mysterious creator. It wasn't her fault, she was intrigued, and the girl had stood up to her, defied her despite knowing her reputation and what that might do to her.

It felt like there was someone in there, beneath all that unknown, that Santana could get along with. It wasn't like she had loads of close friends. While she did have plenty, more than she really needed, she did suspect many were friends with her due to a) her temper, and b) the status she could bring them. No one wanted to be the kid that was slushied every lunchtime, and no one wanted to be the social pariah.

So by being friends with her, by hanging out with her and inviting Santana to their parties they kept themselves safe. But she couldn't exactly be herself around them. Yes, she had a few loyal friends that she could be genuine with, but Brittany wasn't interested in superheroes, and Puck wasn't one for Disney films, and Finn cared more for explosions and football than Harry Potter.

This girl, though, she seemed different. She clearly was a fan of all of the above, and she wasn't shying away from her interest. The drawings said that much. Yet, she threw them away like they were garbage, and that had Santana confused.

It really shouldn't have been on her mind this much, but she couldn't stop herself. And that's how she found herself keeping an eye on the girl. At first, it was just to make sure that ever since their conversation in the library the girl wasn't targeted. There was a dedicated team of baby Cheerios who would love to score some points, and if news broke of the blonde ignoring Santana's request, then she'd be the newest geek and freak to be doused in corn syrup and ice.

Santana couldn't have that happening. So she watched, and she did her best to keep the Cheerios as far away from the girl as possible. It all seemed to be going rather well, and there had been no more run ins, but she'd clearly miscalculated along the way.

Apparently, she wasn't as subtle about her staring as she thought she was, and when a chance encounter took place in the girls bathroom, the blonde decided to call her on it.

All Santana had wanted was to wash the ink off her hands from the dud pen Finn had lent her. She hadn't expected to see that familiar face staring back at her in the mirror as she came out of the stall, and she hadn't expected the glare she received in return.

"Are you stalking me?" the girl asked, her tone clipped and cold as she washed her hands.

"In your dreams." Rolling her eyes, Santana resumed lathering the soap, and testing the temperature of the hot water to make sure she didn't burn herself.

"No, you're really not. Nightmares, definitely," was the muttered response she heard back, and it was enough to make her stop.

"What's your problem with me?" Santana asked, looking up at the girl in the mirror, and seeing a shocked face staring back at her.

"_My_ problem with _you_?" she began, waving her hand and launching droplets of water round the room. "You're the one who keeps following me! Don't think I haven't noticed you sitting behind me in every English and History class, and don't think I haven't seen you watch me in the corridors. So I don't have a problem with you, but you clearly have one with me."

Her eyes were cold in their glare, and Santana swallowed as she looked away. Her words were completely true, except she didn't have a problem with her. That was very much far from the truth.

"I just want to know your name. That's it." Washing the soap off and being relieved to see that the ink had gone, Santana grabbed a paper towel and started drying her hands.

"Work it out yourself if you're that interested," she replied, following suit and drying her hands, too.

"You think I haven't tried? You don't freaking exist at this school. You're not in the yearbooks, you're not signed up for any clubs. You're like a fucking ghost." She hadn't wanted to come clean like that, to reveal her actions so obviously, but she was caught up in this girl's actions grating on her nerves.

"Well that can't be true if the almighty Santana Lopez is talking to me," she snarked, rolling her eyes in the mirror.

"No seriously, what the fuck is your problem? All I wanted to do was give you a fucking compliment but no-" Santana's words were cut off, and by the dubious look of the blonde before her, it seemed like she was now going to have more explaining to do.

"A compliment, was that before or after you told me I dressed hideously? Plus, what the hell do _you_ have to compliment _me_ on?" She was staring at Santana in disbelief, and the silence was echoing onwards.

"It doesn't even matter. Forget about it," Santana replied, brushing the situation off, ready to move towards the door.

"No, let's not. You've clearly gone out your way, so tell me. What was it? What were you going to say?"

Santana stood frozen to the stop, unsure whether to proceed or not. She wanted to come clean and tell the girl that she liked her drawings, that she wanted to see more of them, that she was interested in getting to know her. However, her entire attitude had her defences up, and that just wasn't going to happen.

"Who the fuck are you?" Santana asked instead, crossing her arms over her chest. There was a pause, and then a quick exhale.

"No one you'll ever know," the blonde replied, shaking her head as she moved past her, leaving the bathroom, the door shutting loudly behind her.

Well, that went fucking great!

*0*0*

Given the other girl's reaction to Santana as of late, she thought it best to give her some space. At times, she did keep an eye out, but it was fleeting. There was no point in getting dragged into a situation where she wasn't wanted, and the girl had made it very clear that she wasn't wanted anywhere near her.

That wasn't as easy to do as Santana thought it would be. English and History still presented key opportunities for Santana to see her, and yes, she occasionally did end up sitting behind her every odd lesson. It couldn't be helped.

It wasn't the girl pulling Santana in, but her drawings.

She still had a torn out piece of paper next to her notes, and she'd keep up to date with everything going on in class and then doodle away. It was like a routine that she had, and Santana was unable to look away.

Fancy landscape drawings with towering futuristic buildings and the odd spaceship flying through, statues lining a graveyard with the golden trio standing at defence in the middle, Dobby playing with Sméagol and Jack Sparrow, it all flowed from her pen and pencil, coming to life on the page.

Then she'd kill it off, scrunch it up, throw it in the bin, and each and every time she did so, Santana's brow furrowed in confusion. There was so much potential and she was throwing it away. Why?

Regardless, with each class Santana watched her throw those drawings away, she always ended up holding back until the end, and plucking them out, putting them safely in her bag. She wasn't sure how many she had amassed over the weeks that followed, but she kept every one of them. They were like a mashing of worlds, the greatest crossover ever, and she loved it.

On one particular day, however, rather than be the one watching, she was being the one watched. She felt the eyes on her as soon as she left the English room, and as she weaved between the bodies of her peers, it stayed on her. The hairs at the back of her neck were on end, and she felt a flutter in the stomach from this feeling creeping up her spine.

Glancing over her shoulder as she moved, she spotted the eyes that had been trailing her back to her locker. Oh, the blonde looked pissed, and she was coming directly for her. Had she…had she seen Santana in the classroom? Had she seen her take her drawing out the bin?

"You took my drawing," the blonde barked, coming to stop as Santana opened her locker door.

Yes, why yes she had. Nice going. Subtly clearly was not an art form Santana had, she was coming to realise.

"What?" she tried to look confused but was definitely failing.

"My drawing, you took it out the trash." Chancing a look past the locker door, Santana raised her eyebrow in question, and the blonde huffed, shaking her head. She clearly wasn't going to let this go, and no way was Santana having her believe that she had been rooting in the trash.

"Recycling bin, and so what?" This just seemed to aggravate the blonde even more, and she crossed her arms over her chest, standing up taller, and making Santana look upwards. God, she hated being short.

"Why did you do that?" her words were said pointedly, and it was obvious she expected a real answer. Too bad she wasn't getting one.

"What does it matter?" Diving back inside her locker, Santana started getting her books ready for her afternoon classes and tried to pretend the girl wasn't still standing there. That was harder than she thought, what with her ticked off presence putting Santana on edge.

"It was my drawing," she ground out, apparently like that meant something.

"Which you threw away. Got to give you points for thinking of the planet, but you get none for trying to demand answers out of me." The girl looked affronted and stepped back as Santana closed her locker door with a bang. Giving her one last look, she lifted her bag onto her shoulder and walked away, leaving the blonde behind.

The conversation was over, nothing more needed to be said. Santana had had enough. She had tried to be kind, she had tried to get to know this girl, sort of, and she had tried to play nice. But she couldn't do it anymore because she wasn't putting up with the demand for answers when she was getting none in return.

She only wanted to know her name, and it had resulted in so much more drama than necessary. So she was done. Finite. She'd stop. She'd stop taking the drawings out the recycling bin. She'd just leave the girl the hell alone. That's what she had wanted, so that's what she was getting.

Plus, it wasn't like Santana didn't have other things to fill her time with, anyway. She had parties to go to, Cheerios to boss around, people to judge. Those drawings and their creator had just been getting in the way of all that, and as head cheerleader, she felt obliged to shift her focus and get her priorities back in order. No more drawings, no more pretty blonde, no more distractions.

*0*0*

The unmistakable sight of red corn syrup and ice across the hallway floor was enough to bring a sinking feeling to Santana's stomach, and she followed the trail to the bathroom.

It was late, a good thirty minutes after Cheerios practice had ended, and yet this mess looked fresh. There wasn't much brain power required to deduce that her baby Cheerios had found a stray on their way out the school, and some poor bastard was now freezing and sticky.

Santana had thought she'd put an end to that reign of terror. Personally, she never liked the use of slushies because those were fucking expensive to buy, and usually more than one person was struck. It was also pretty easy for the Cheerios uniforms to get sprayed by accident, and Sue hated seeing her precious uniforms with slushy stains on them. Santana just didn't need the hassle of it all.

However, clearly they had decided to go against her wishes, and as she opened the girls bathroom with an apology on her tongue, Santana was met with the one face she had been trying so hard to avoid.

It had been weeks. The mysterious blonde had kept her distance, Santana had kept hers, and there were no more drawings to be seen in their shared classes. The girl had stopped completely, and it left a bitter taste in Santana's mouth, but there was nothing she could do about it. They weren't friends or anything remotely close.

However, that didn't stop her from being a decent human being.

"Are you okay? Do you need help?" she asked, her voice soft and careful. She didn't want to give the impression that she was going to make this worse. The uniform normally did that for her.

"Why? Why do you even care? Why won't you just leave me the hell alone?!" the girl cried out, turning away.

She was breaking down, the tears she was fighting so hard to hold back were leaking out, running down her cheeks. Despite her attempts to furiously wipe them away and not let Santana see her cry, it was impossible.

Her blonde hair was still tinted with slushy, regardless of what looked like a good attempt to get most of it out, and her dress was stained down the front. She was shaking, whether from the cold or the tears, Santana didn't know, but she wasn't just going to walk away.

The outburst was expected, so that didn't stop her from ducking into the nearest stall and grabbing toilet paper for her. The paper towels were always too harsh on the skin, and these would be softer for her. When Santana handed them over, without receiving so much as a glance, she was relieved the girl accepted them. Only then, after wiping at her face, did she give a small nod.

"Do you need me to-" Santana began, waving her hand at the sink in offering to help the girl wash the mess out of her hair.

"It's fine. I'll just wipe most of it off and head home." The tears were at bay now, and she looked slightly more composed. Not that it mattered. Santana didn't care how puffy her eyes were, just as long as that far off lonely look left them.

"Won't your parents-"

"It's fine, really," she said again, and a flash of emotion across her face implied this wasn't her first rodeo. She'd done this before, and that had Santana's stomach twisting in knots.

Nodding, Santana didn't quite know what to do with herself. She didn't just want to leave her there, but she wasn't sure hanging around would make the girl comfortable. After all, she kept demanding that Santana left her alone, so being stuck in the bathroom with her there might not have been the greatest thing for her after being slushied.

Just as Santana was about to make the move for the door, however, the girl spoke.

"Quinn," she said quietly, her eyes staying off Santana's as she wiped at her dress with the damp paper towels.

"Hmm?" Santana hummed, turning to look at the girl properly, and raising her eyebrows in question.

"My name's Quinn," she repeated and Santana took a step back, having not expected that at all.

Quinn. Her name was Quinn. Rolling that idea around in her head, she smiled and nodded. Whatever was happening, Santana wasn't sure, but it seemed to be good and she didn't want to risk screwing this up. Quinn had shared something with her, so now she needed to do the same.

"I put your drawings up in my room," she said, making up the ground she'd just lost, stepping towards the sinks.

Quinn frowned in the mirror and bit her bottom lip, where a small smile was leaking out.

"What ones do you have?"

"The one with Wall-E, Eve and Dobby, taking baby Harry Potter. Then the one with Superman flying him over the earth with whatever those robots are-"

"Daleks," she interrupted, and Santana stopped.

"Huh?" Smiling brighter now, Quinn continued to clean the mess of the slushy off her, and turned to the side to face Santana as she replied.

"They're Daleks, the robots that were chasing Superman. They're from Doctor Who," she explained, and all Santana could do was nod. This was the most Quinn had said to her without making her feel like an idiot or that twisting sensation in her stomach.

"Right, well, yeah. I have those ones and pretty much all the others you drew in English and History after that until you…until you stopped."

Quinn looked down when Santana finished, and she shrugged one shoulder.

"I thought you were making fun of them with your friends," she admitted, and it took all Santana's willpower not to start gushing about how amazing she thought they were.

"I'd never," she said seriously, but it wasn't met the way she thought it would be.

"I know that's not true, but it's okay. I'm glad you liked them," Quinn replied, and it stung to hear her disbelief.

"Thanks for drawing them," Santana finished, knowing that she had to give something back to show she wasn't a complete ass-hat.

"Well, this is probably the best it's going to get," Quinn said, and Santana frowned in confusion. This seemed like a good start of something else. No longer were they on unequal footing. They could actually try and talk more now. So what was Quinn's deal? "My dress is probably ruined, but I have plenty others, and I should get home before my parents start to worry. Thanks for…thanks," she finished, and it was with a relieved sigh that Santana smiled back.

"No problem, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." It was met with a shy smile and then she began to clear up. Quinn threw the paper towels in the bin and then gave a brief goodbye.

Standing alone in the bathroom, Santana didn't know whether to smile or frown at this change of events. It felt like they had moved forward, but Quinn was still as mysterious as ever, and really, she had no clue. She was just going to have to play it by ear.

*0*0*

The next English lesson they had, Santana was well behaved and didn't look in Quinn's direction once. Only after the bell had rung and she was packing up her things, though, did she meet eye to eye with the blonde. Standing in front of Santana's desk, Quinn was holding a piece of paper in hand, and chewing on her bottom lip.

Santana opened her mouth to speak, but didn't know what to say, and then Quinn stole the words from her by pushing the paper at her quickly and leaving. So, there was that.

Looking down at the paper, a smile came to her lips as she saw R2-D2 and C-3PO accepting baby Harry Potter from Superman, with Obi-Wan Kenobi in the background, lightsaber at the ready.

It got better.

And maybe…maybe this meant Santana was allowed to talk to Quinn now? Whatever, that was the message she was taking from it. How could she not? This drawing was like a peace offering or something. Made just that much better by being handed to her, rather than having her fish it out the recycling bin.

Progress, this was what progress felt like.

*0*0*

Conversation between the two was tentative after that and at times a little rocky. They went from being able to have snippets of talk about what they thought on this book or that movie, but at other times, they'd bark and growl at one another.

It was a very peculiar situation for them both to be in. Santana knew that Quinn was basically a nobody at the school, and social norms implied that she really shouldn't be friends with her. Likewise, Quinn seemed to know Santana was one of the most popular students at the school, and that she risked a lot of backlash by being seen with the girl. But yet, they didn't let that interfere.

Quinn's drawings still continued, which was a clear sign to Santana that she shouldn't snap and lose her shit because this girl was actually really sweet. So sweet, in fact, that Santana could feel her body reacting the girl's mere presence now.

Palpitations in her chest? Check. Clammy hands? Check. Fluttering in her stomach? Check. Becoming tongue tied? Check. Sudden temperature rise? Check.

So…she might have possibly formed a teeny, tiny, little crush on Quinn.

It was nothing major, nothing to write home about, but it was there, and it didn't look to be going anywhere. Santana reacted in true Santana fashion and pretended it didn't exist. Occasionally, on days where she felt particularly inclined to compliment Quinn on something, she'd end up being gruff and rude. It was stupid and foolish and she always regretted it, but on other days, Quinn was rude and gruff to her, so it evened things out again.

"What are you drawing today?" Santana asked, taking her seat behind Quinn in English, and leaning forward in her chair to peer at the girl's drawing.

"Why do you care?" Quinn muttered, and yes, it was going to be one of those days. Knowing that she didn't have an answer for that, she forwent attempting to, and Quinn finally came to her aid by moving on. "I've been watching Firefly, and I've had some ideas of crossing over that with Doctor Who. I'd really like to see a showdown between them. Like the crew of Serenity have been given the job to steal the Tardis and transport it, only they don't expect The Doctor and…and you have no clue what I'm talking about," she finished, putting her pen down and turning in her chair.

Santana sat back and looked Quinn over, shrugging one shoulder in response.

"You lost me at Firefly," she admitted, knowing that with the rocky start, her answer might be enough to make Quinn yell at her. Those were surprisingly some of her favourite moments, because Quinn was freaking gorgeous when she got riled, and maybe Santana found it really attractive to see her all worked up. Plus, who else had the guts to yell at the head cheerio and get away with it?

"Of course I did," Quinn muttered in reply, shaking her head with an exaggerated eye roll tacked in, too.

"Whatever, I want to see it." It was as simple as that, in her mind, and Quinn gave her a dubious look before nodding.

With the arrival of the teacher, they ended their discussion. Rather than peek throughout the lesson, Santana awaited until Quinn was done. She could see her arm moving pretty frequently, and while she had wanted to have a quick glance, she knew it was better to take the picture in as a whole. And she was right.

Quinn handed back the drawing and then began packing up her things, not even wasting a second before exiting the room. Santana watched her leave and then looked at what she had been given. It might not have made a lot of sense to her since she hadn't watched Doctor Who or Firefly, but she was eager to see what Quinn had come up with.

A spaceship with 'Serenity' on the side was flying over what looked like the Grand Canyon with a blue police box hanging beneath it on wires. Then, in the top corner, it read 'Part One'. So there would be more, and while that thought was exciting in itself, it would probably be better if she knew the context of each show.

Maybe it was time she started branching out a little. After all, this would just give her another excuse to talk to Quinn, and that sounded like an awesome idea.

*0*0*

Awesome idea it was.

Over the weekend, Santana found both series online and on Netflix and had a TV marathon day. It would have been better if she'd been watching it with the girl that had inspired her to watch them in the first place, but Quinn and her really weren't at that stage of friendship yet. However, there was still time for that in the future because she had only managed two seasons of Doctor Who, alongside the complete season of Firefly, so there was still plenty to watch.

Feeling rather happy about this little development on the Monday, Santana sought Quinn out during lunch hour. Like usual, she was tucked up in the library, nose in a book once again, but this time, when she saw Santana, she stopped reading. It brought a smile to Santana's lips and a flutter in her chest.

"I watched Firefly," she declared, pulling out a seat and joining Quinn as she forwent all normal greetings.

"And?" she replied, raising her eyebrow in question. God, that was starting to become such a turn on seeing her do that.

"And you should have told me Inara was hot," Santana replied, swallowing away all the thoughts flying about her head in regards to Quinn. And really, all the girls of Firefly were pretty hot, if she was being honest, so Quinn should have led with that information.

"Right, because that's the main reason to watch it," Quinn deadpanned, picking up her book once more.

"I watched it for you, you know that." The words were whispered, and an eye roll ended up in there somewhere because fuck, she hadn't really wanted to confess that but she needed to.

"Oh?" Quinn asked, a small smile playing at her lips, her eyebrow raised in question once more. Torture, complete and utter torture.

"Yes, now stop looking so smug about it." Santana decided it was best not to look directly at her and turned to glance around the library instead. She could hear Quinn's soft chuckle and her stomach flipped at the sound. God, she was getting in deep with this girl.

"Did you enjoy it?" The question was innocent enough, the look she was getting while being asked, not so much.

"Maybe. Although, if Mal keeps calling Inara a whore I'm going to beat his face in. She's a fucking well-respected Companion, not some cheap floozy. And what the fuck is up with Reavers? If that's what can happen if you go into space then it's no one's business going up there." Quinn smirked back at Santana, which just made her feel more under the microscope.

"You should watch Serenity," she said, running her fingers over the sides of her book, hypnotising Santana's gaze.

"What?" she muttered, only to hear another chuckle come her way. Shooting Quinn a glare, she sunk back into her chair and kept her eyes firmly glued above Quinn's neck.

"It's the movie based on Firefly. You should watch that next," Quinn explained.

"Alright, I will." It felt like some unspoken challenge, and she wasn't going to back down.

"Okay," Quinn responded, picking up her book.

"Good."

"Great."

"Later." Santana began to get up, and Quinn shot her a smile.

"Bye," she said cheerily. It was enough to have Santana tucking the chair back under the desk and leaving. She couldn't handle Quinn when she was in a good mood, it made her heart a mess.

Unfortunately, she had just seen an opportunity and it wasn't too late to go back and grab a hold of it.

After about ten feet, Santana stopped and turned back around. She received a bewildered look from Quinn as she headed back over, and then a small smile as she stumbled over what to say. It wasn't hard, but God, she hadn't done this before, and it was _Quinn_. Santana didn't know if they were at this stage, but fuck it.

"Will you watch it with me?" she asked, and Quinn cocked her head to the side for a second.

"You want me to watch it with you?" she repeated, and Santana shifted on the spot, now not feeling so confident in her 'Fuck it' mentality.

"Yeah…but if you don't want to then-" she began, sounding unsure and so much like a coward it hurt.

"No," Quinn interrupted, sitting up. "I want to…I want to watch it with you…that would be…nice," she finished, and Santana couldn't fight the smile on her lips.

"Nice," she murmured under breath, feeling giddy at the thought. Rein it in, Santana, rein it in.

Okay, it was just an innocent act of them watching a movie together, but it was moving them in the right direction. And that thought was powerful enough to have her grinning as she left the library with a spring in her step, and a blonde chuckling in the stacks behind her.

*0*0*

Watching Serenity with Quinn had actually been Santana's best idea ever because oh good lord, that movie. There was enough in there to give her nightmares, so having the blonde at her side, even though she was laughing at her for majority of it, was actually comforting.

They had opted to watch it at Santana's house, or rather, Quinn hadn't brought up her house as an option. Santana assumed that was due to not really knowing each other all that well, and hoped their time together would change that.

It seemed to work, because even though things had been a little strange when Quinn first arrived, after Serenity had finished, they were diving off into conversation, with Quinn laughing at Santana's expense, and none of it felt forced or strange in the least.

It was easy and the more time Santana spent with her, the more she realised this silly little crush was going to get her in trouble. Quinn seemed to be content with them just being friends, and yes, that's what they had decided they were. They had come to such a conclusion several weeks after watching Serenity together, whilst cuddled up on Santana's couch having a Joss Whedon marathon.

By this time, Santana had hoped she would be able to look at Quinn in a purely platonic matter, but that was just not the case. Everything the girl did ended up being endearing to her, even when she was bitching Santana out for something, and right down to how she'd drink out a damn water bottle. It was sickening, absolutely sickening.

On another one of those Saturday afternoons, where they had spent the day watching and debating their new TV show of the week, Santana found that she was losing the will to keep her crush quiet anymore.

A lot of progress had been made. Quinn seemed to trust her now. They weren't strangers. They spoke every day. Santana moved seats so that she was sitting next to the girl in both English and History. She finished her lunch early and would go join Quinn in the library. They hung out every weekend without fail. There was a degree of familiarity to them, and if anything, this had amplified Santana's crush.

And with the way Quinn's eyes tracked and traced round her bedroom for the first time, eyeing up the décor and then focusing on her drawings that were on show, the vibrancy and light in her eyes, that surprised and excited expression sold Santana down the river.

"You actually kept them all?" Quinn asked, turning back to look at Santana who was by the door.

"Of course I did," she replied, carefully moving closer to stand next to her.

"I thought…I don't know what I thought," Quinn murmured, and Santana tried to spy the look passing over her features at that moment. She looked a little taken aback, but in a sad, longing way now, and it planted so many seeds of curiosity in Santana's mind, she had to push all her instincts of being an invasive bitch and keep quiet. "I can't actually believe I'm really here."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm standing in Santana Lopez's bedroom…that's…that's crazy," she admitted, ruffling her hair with her hand as she replied.

"How?" Yeah, she'd heard that from people before, but she hadn't expected it from Quinn.

"If only you knew," she murmured, her fingers reaching out to trace the very first drawing Santana had rescued from the recycling bin.

"Tell me. I mean, geez, Q, you keep everything so locked up. We're friends, aren't we?" It was meant to be a flippant remark to make her explain, but it didn't have that affect.

"Is that all we are?" Quinn questioned, dropping her hand and turning her head to look at Santana carefully.

It felt like Santana had just stepped onto a minefield and had to work her way across it safely. This wasn't about their friendship, she could see it in Quinn's eyes. This was about the undercurrent running between them, the one Santana was trying hard not to confess to, and the one she thought Quinn hadn't noticed.

Santana stepped closer, and in turn, Quinn turned to face her completely. With a shaky hand, her fingers ran over Quinn's cardigan at her waist, and the other hand raised to cup the side of her face. Being this up close, she could finally see the richness of Quinn's eyes, the way they glanced down briefly to Santana's lips, and then the back up, her pupils becoming dilated.

"Q," Santana whimpered, licking her lips and edging closer.

"You don't want to kiss me," she uttered, just before Santana was going to do exactly that. She placed her hand on Santana's sternum and gently pushed. It was enough to have Santana moving backwards, feeling like an asshole for daring to cross this line, but then Quinn's fingers were gripping onto her collar and making sure she couldn't vacate the area completely. "Trust me, you really don't want to kiss me."

"What makes you think that?" Surely Quinn knew it was the exact opposite of that fact.

"If you knew…" she murmured, and God, Santana was sick of hearing that.

"You won't tell me, though, so how am I to know?" she stressed, trying not to snap at Quinn, but feeling frustrated nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, I should go." Quinn pulled back and Santana fought the whimper in the throat. She was such a fucking idiot. She should have left it alone. She should have behaved. She should have kept her feelings locked up inside, a page from Quinn's book, and never tried to act on them.

"You don't have to," Santana went on to say, hoping that this hadn't ruined everything.

"I know, but my parents are probably worried. It's later than usual. Thanks for letting me come over. I had fun," Quinn said, tucking her hair behind her ear, and Santana nodded in reply.

"Me too."

Showing her out was harder than Santana thought it was going to be, and when the door clicked shut behind her, she leant against it with a heavy sigh. She might have just ruined everything, and for what, a crush? How fucking stupid could she be?

This was why she didn't get involved in crap like this with pretty girls who were entirely too unattainable. She should have known better, but those damn drawings, and that damn smile she had, and just…Quinn.

And now she'd gone and ruined it all. Brilliant.

*0*0*

Apparently, not all was ruined.

Quinn and her still shared the odd conversation, and she accepted every single one of Quinn's drawings like they were the holy grail. The references made a lot more sense now that she had brushed up on the other shows and books Quinn was into.

The almost kiss was never mentioned, and although she attempted to destroy every ounce of that crush, it still lived. It was dormant, but Santana knew it wouldn't always stay that way. She had to accept the fact that being Quinn's friend meant just that. Nothing more. There was no potential, and she should have known that from the start.

How could Quinn ever want her?

She had been out of her mind to even think there was a possibility. A girl like that was sweet, kind, and talented enough not to rely on others to make her way through the nightmare that was high school. Unlike Santana, she hadn't sold out for popularity, and climbed over other students to get to the top.

Accepting Quinn's decision meant that she couldn't be an asshole about it. Well, she could but that would be a dickish move if there ever was one. Instead, she acted like nothing had gone wrong. Basically doing what Quinn was doing, and remained under the impression that they would move on like it never happened.

And it worked well, too, until Quinn decided to change the game unannounced.

"I want you to know," she admitted one lunch hour.

They were sitting in the library, Quinn reading a book, and Santana doing her homework.

"Hmm? Know what?" she replied, not looking up from the equation she was trying to suss out.

"It's probably best I show you," Quinn said, and then she was getting up and walking away from the table. That did make Santana stop, because hello, where the hell was she off to? Was Santana meant to follow?

It seemed that she wasn't, as Quinn came back moments later, yearbook in hand, and a slight uncertainty in her step. She sat down across from Santana, like before, and as she did so, her fingers gripped at the edge of the book tightly.

"Why are you showing me the yearbook?" Santana asked, sliding her work to the side because Quinn genuinely looked uneasy about this, which meant there had to be something bigger going on here.

"You said you looked through them and couldn't find me," Quinn explained, placing the book on the table and outlining the letters on the front with her fingertips.

"Yeah…" Frowning, Santana tried to work out what exactly was going on, but she was coming up short. She had checked the yearbook, she had looked and looked and Quinn was definitely not in there, of that, she was certain.

"Well, I am in here," she said, chewing on her bottom lip, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so.

"No, you're not. I checked, like sixteen times. Even after you told me your name." She had hoped that it would reveal more about Quinn, seeing what was in there, but she hadn't found the girl.

"Santana, do you even know my surname?" Quinn asked, raising her eyebrows in question, and it had Santana pausing.

"…No…"

"It's Fabray." And with a push, the yearbook ended up in Santana's hands. She got the message, and she went on the search.

"Alright," she murmured, opening it up. Scanning through the book, Santana ignored the pictures and first names, focusing primarily on the second. Eventually, she found 'Fabray' but it didn't fit and this was some messed up joke. "That's not you," she declared, sliding the book back to Quinn.

Quinn swallowed anxiously and nodded once, keeping her eyes downcast, looking at the very picture Santana had found. With deep breath, she sat up straighter, and licked her lips.

"Actually, it is."

"No, because you two don't like anything alike, and her name is Lucy. She your cousin or something?" That had to be the only reasonable explanation to this mind fuck.

Lucy Caboosey was not Quinn. No way. Santana remembered Lucy. She remembered the glasses, the hair, the clothing. She remembered the way her Cheer captain ripped her for shit. She remembered laughing at the slushy facials. That was not Quinn. That could not be Quinn.

"Santana, that's me," she repeated, looking slightly exasperated.

"Look, this may be all fun and games for you but-" Snixx had been awoken, and Santana wasn't taking kindly to being fucked about, but Quinn was fast to cut her off before she could get on a roll.

"I'm not joking. That really is me!" she stressed, reaching out and placing her hand on Santana's wrist to stop her from pulling away from the table. "I'm not lying. I really was Lucy Caboosey."

Quinn's touch was distraction enough, but Snixx was trying to take control of the wheel, and Santana felt inclined to let her have it.

"You look nothing like-"

"I dyed my hair, I got a nose job, and when I spent the remainder of last year being home-schooled due to the bullying, I started to work out and lost the weight, and then I kept working out over the summer. That's me, or at least, that was me," Quinn said, and Santana was ready to dive on in.

"And what, you changed your name, too?" she spat.

"No, Quinn is my middle name."

"Why…why are you telling me this?" She was angry, and it was completely misplaced.

She wasn't angry at Quinn, but herself. Santana had stood by and watched her peers torture this girl, and even took part in the public humiliation. She felt sick at her actions, and how the hell could Quinn even talk to her now, after knowing what she had done?

"Because I figured you deserved to know. You would have found out sooner or later, and I thought…I knew you wouldn't have wanted to kiss me if you'd known. I wanted you to kiss me, I still do, but I can see it in your eyes that now you know I'm Lucy freaking Caboosey you'll be running for the hills," she said, sounding more deflated than Santana felt, and it was a kick to the gut.

"Q," Santana murmured, shocked at the confession, horrified by the implications, and beaten by the sight before her.

"No, okay? I get it. I'm still the fat girl everyone made fun of, and of course, why would Santana Lopez want anything to do with her?" Not waiting to hear a response, Quinn grabbed her things and was moving faster than Santana had ever seen her.

Looking back down at the yearbook, she pulled it closer and looked at the girl who was staring back. The more she looked at it the more she could see aspects of Quinn, or rather aspects of Lucy in the girl she now knew as Quinn.

She should have been braver. She should have been bolder. Those were the regrets weighing on her shoulders now. Rather than stand up for Lucy, for Quinn, she'd chosen popularity, and it was now coming to bite her in the ass. She felt like such a fucking sell-out.

*0*0*

A part of Santana didn't know how to look Quinn in the eye anymore. She'd see her around in the halls, in class, but she didn't know how to face her. The shame and self-hatred was still in her system, and she didn't know how to talk to the other girl anymore.

She definitely knew that she had to apologise, because she had been rude and that shit wasn't right when Quinn was letting her in on something so personal. But she'd acted like a dick, and she wasn't sure how to initiate conversation with without coming off like she was going to lynch the girl.

The permanent scowl on her face as of late immediately put people on the defensive, for some reason.

Even her friends were beginning to notice that she was more pissed off that usual, and the Cheerios certainly endured the worst of her bad moods. But then again, why not? They had slushied Quinn after her transformation, and they had been there with Santana and laughed at her when she was Lucy. They deserved about as much punishment as she did.

After a while, though, when school and practice was over and she would be lying in her bed, all she could see was those drawings staring back at her and the memories of the girl she had hurt because of inability to be a decent human being.

She had to make it right. She had to correct Quinn's wrong assumptions and make it right.

That's how she wound up seeking the girl out the following day, winding through the Library like she had done so many times before, and catching a look of Quinn sitting at a table, working.

Making sure she was loud enough not to startle Quinn but quiet enough not to draw the attention of everyone in there, Santana approached cautiously. Once within range, the blonde tensed and then cocked her head to the side, making it obvious she was aware of her presence.

"I didn't think you'd want to be seen with me," Quinn drawled, not looking up from what she was doing. Santana fought an eye roll at her attitude and decided to take seat.

"I didn't tell anyone," she said, needing Quinn to know that she wasn't going to suddenly receive any backlash. If Santana had mentioned the fact that she was Lucy, the Cheerios would have a hunting season, and she'd be their number one prey.

"No, of course you didn't. Wouldn't want anyone knowing that you've been hanging out with Lucy Caboosey all this time," she snarked back, pursing her lips, and Santana had had enough. This shit needed to stop.

"Would you stop it? I didn't tell anyone because you clearly went to a lot of trouble to put an end to Lucy and become Quinn. I didn't tell anyone because it's none of their fucking business. I didn't tell anyone because you're my friend, or whatever the hell you are, and I don't want you getting hurt."

Quinn looked at her dubiously, and she knew she needed to plough on and get this out.

"I'm sorry for how I acted," Santana began, swallowing away the lump in her throat and avoiding eye contact. "I shouldn't have gotten mad, but I wasn't mad at you." Quinn snorted in disbelief and she shut her eyes, almost in defeat, knowing that she couldn't look at the blonde if she wanted to get through this. "I honestly wasn't mad at you. I was furious with myself. I tortured you, Q. I tortured you. I was with those Cheerios, standing next to them while they threw those slushies, and I laughed in your face."

Opening her eyes, Santana expected to see an angry or pissed of look staring back at her, but all she received was a defeated expression crossing Quinn's face.

"I know," she whispered, wiping down the front of her dress. "I remembered."

"I need you to know that I don't care." Santana's words didn't have the desired effect because Quinn's defences went up and she now looked pissed.

"Excuse me?" she murmured, sitting forward in her chair, and she was giving Santana the exact same look she used to give when she was going to bite her head off.

"Okay, that came out wrong. Let me explain. I don't care about Lucy…No, again that's wrong. I do. I care, I care about Lucy, I care about Quinn, I care about you. What I'm trying to say is that I care about you, and I'm so fucking sorry for ever being that bitch who hurt you. I don't want you getting hurt, I don't want anyone treating you like that. I like you, I really fucking like you. And if you want to be Quinn to me, then you're Quinn but if you want to be Lucy, then I want that, too. I just…I'm making such a fucking mess of this," she finished, slamming her head into the palm of her hand.

What the fuck was that?

"You don't care that I'm Lucy Caboosey?" Quinn asked, her fingers playing with her pencil as she did so. She looked so unsure, so anxious that all the Santana's defences melted. She needed to be completely open and honest with this girl.

"No."

"Would you even have become friends with me if I hadn't looked like this?" This time, Santana paused for thought because firing off the first answer that came to mind wouldn't be doing anyone any good.

"Q, the first thing I saw was your drawing, not your body, not your face, but your drawing. So don't make me sound like an ass when I say I probably wouldn't, but only because I knew what was expected of me, and getting to know Lucy wouldn't have been one of them."

"But if I dyed my hair and I went back to the wearing glasses…" Quinn hedged, raising her eyebrows for the unasked question.

"I'd still be stalking your ass in classes to see what else you were going to draw and I'd still invite you over on the weekends. What part of 'I really fucking like you' did you not get?"

The first quirk of a smile appeared on her lips, and Santana could feel her body beaming. A smile was good, it meant she'd broken through Quinn's defences. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Quinn sat forward, leaning across the table, and took hold of Santana's hand. It was such an innocent gesture, but her thumb caressing her knuckles was intimate, and Santana could feel the heat in her cheeks.

"I like you, too," Quinn confessed. "But I don't quite trust you, yet." Santana swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

"I can understand that." And she could. Trust would take time, but now they were on the same page and finally in the same damn book.

"But that doesn't mean I wouldn't want to work on it." Oh, well Santana hadn't been expecting that, and the comforting squeeze of her hand had her heart back flipping at the possibilities.

"Work on it?" she asked, wanting to check.

"Yeah. I recently bought Sherlock, and since we both haven't seen it yet, maybe we could watch it together?" Quinn suggested, and it felt like the weight was being eased off Santana's shoulders.

"I'd love to."

"And maybe we could watch it at my house, this time." That was a big step within itself, and Santana found herself grinning. She was finally being allowed to see more of Quinn, the aspects of her that were still Lucy.

"Definitely," she replied, ignoring her heart soaring and doing everything possible to try and control the grin on her lips. Quinn chuckled as it slipped out, and Santana hid her face in the arm, shaking her head.

It was weird to feel this happy, and all because Quinn wanted to keep whatever this was going. Yes, they still had a lot of little things to get through, but the fact of the matter remained, Santana had liked Lucy's aspects well before ever seeing Quinn's, and that meant a hell of a lot more than if she had seen Quinn and then been introduced to her Lucy side.

Santana may have been the Head Cheerleader and the HBIC, but when it came to this girl, with her in-depth knowledge of a ridiculous amount of television shows, books and movies; and her fantastic drawing skills, Santana turned to putty and embraced that side of herself that she normally kept hidden.

Around Quinn, she didn't need to hide her obsessions, she could just be, and that's exactly what Quinn was doing in return, giving her more and more of Lucy. It now felt like Santana was getting the best of both worlds, and she intended to do whatever it took to keep Quinn around, even if that meant getting that slushy facial and falling to the bottom of the popularity totem pole.

Lucy Q, as she would now be dubbed, was so much more important than the approval of Santana's peers, and she only wished she could have come to this realisation sooner. However, better late than never, and that was what she needed to keep in mind with another comforting squeeze of her hand.

At least she had been fortunate enough to meet this girl now, rather than having missed out on all the happiness she was bringing into her life. And whether Lucy Q meant to or not, she definitely changed Santana's perspective. It was about time she stood up for those that were getting crapped on by the social hierarchy, reputation be dammed.

There were more important things in life than being popular, and one of them watching Sherlock with the girl she liked. Nothing could beat that.

*0*0*


End file.
